


Roy Cohn's Baby

by Orangefroggie



Category: Historical RPF, Political RPF - US 20th c.
Genre: 1950s, 1970s, American Politics, Cold War, Gay Male Character, Historical, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Male Pregnancy, Male Slash, Politics, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Pregnancy, Red Scare, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:49:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21986938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orangefroggie/pseuds/Orangefroggie
Summary: Roy Cohn getting impregnated by Joe McCarthy after accepting a drink spiked with a Bioweapon grade drug from an undercover Soviet agent. The resulting child may or may not be someone called Donald Trump. Inspired by Anthony Scaramucci's terrible joke, "if Roy Cohn and Joe McCarthy had a baby--it'd be Donald Trump."
Relationships: David Schine/ Roy Cohn, Joe McCarthy/ Roy Cohn
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Roy Cohn's Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Scaramucci is a horrible opportunist and the joke was in incredibly bad taste and totally over-quoted by the media. But the notion of Roy Cohn having a baby with Joe McCarthy kinda got stuck in my head and seemed kinda hot so now y'all are cursed with this fic.

Washington DC 13th March,1954 

Roy Cohn looked around carefully to ensure that no one was following him before slipping surreptitiously into an alleyway and down a steep flight of stairs behind an artfully hidden door.

He entered the dimly lit bar. It was still early, but the seedy bar was already packed with night prowlers hoping to score a decent date for the night. All were male, of course. Roy sat down at the bar, but before he could ask for a drink, a man sat down next to him and asked him, “can I buy you a drink?” 

Roy had been picked up at bars before, but never quite as quickly. He looked at the stranger curiously. The blond-haired, blue-eyed, broad-shouldered man was certainly very handsome. Roy’s type exactly. He could think of no reason to refuse. 

The two men sipped on their drinks and talked about, of all things, art, which Roy knew nothing about. But Roy was great at bluffing and he knew it. Then just as they were talking about Henri Matisse, the man leaned over and kissed Roy smack on the lips. Roy was startled by the abrupt development, but then thought the guy must have wanted to skip the bullshit and get on to it, so he reciprocated, and as he did so, thought about whether he should bring the guy back to his hotel or just get it over with in the men’s room. 

All of a sudden, just as abruptly the man had initiated the kiss, he extricated himself from Roy’s arms and excused himself.  
“I’ll be right back,” he said.  
Roy didn’t believe him for one second. He must have not liked the way I kissed him, he thought, well, the loss is his. 

He finished his drink and looked around the bar, saw no prospective bedfellows, and left just as surreptitiously as he had come. He was about to go home to his pile of files and subpoenas when he remembered he was supposed to dine with Joe. He hailed a cab, “to the Statler Hotel.”

————————————

A blond handsome man slipped into a telephone booth and dialled quickly, looking around alertly as he did so. 

“Hello, this is agent ARTUR. Yes, I spiked his drink. This time the wunderkid is going to get into some big trouble. And he’s not going to get away with it.”

\---------------------

Dinner was altogether uneventful. Their conversation was cut off every five minutes by Joe’s hollering of greetings to a friend passing by. Joe had so many friends. Too many. Just like Roy. 

They talked about the weather, work and communists among other things, but the subject of Pvt Schine inevitably came up.  
“Roy, I know you think Dave is, er, indispensable. But don’t you think railing at the army like that is a bit much?”  
“Oh come on Joe. Dave’s my friend, I’d do anything for him.”  
Roy leaned closer to Joe, and, in a hushed tone, added, “you’d do the same for me, wouldn’t you?”  
Joe looked at Roy in exasperation. He just couldn’t say no to his chief counsel. He nodded.  
Roy grinned. He leaned even closer, until his lips were almost brushing against Joe’s cheek.  
“I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

So here they were, back in Senator Joe’s hotel room, tearing at each other’s clothes. Joe felt Roy’s soft, sensual lips press against his own as he undid the younger man’s trousers, which fell to his ankles with a soft rustle. The touch of Roy’s skin was enough to make him rock hard. 

They fumbled their way to the bed, all tangled in a hot, sticky embrace. They fell onto the fluffy sheets, with Roy landing flat on his back, legs spread, clinging onto Joe, who loomed above him. Joe reached for a jar of Vaseline and got to work. Sex with Joe was good as always, Roy had to admit, even though the senator wasn’t all that good-looking, unlike David. However, something about the sex was different that night. Roy couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it was as though he had experienced sex in a peculiarly different way. Maybe it was the alcohol. But Roy wasn’t too worried about it. Hell, who wouldn’t want a higher libido?

26th May,1954

Roy was pissed. Really pissed. Earlier that day that old fox Welch had thrown out a gag at his expense on national television. And it wasn’t just any gag. It was one that involved pixies and fairies. Judging from the laughter that erupted in the committee room, everyone got the memo. It was beyond embarrassing.

It didn’t help that Roy hadn’t been feeling all that great lately. He had originally thought that the fatigue and nausea could be attributed to the tremendous amount of stress he was under due to the Army-McCarthy Hearings that has attracted the limelight and captured the nation’s attention, until earlier that day he vomited for no reason at all. Joe was worried about his health and had urged Roy to take a day off to pay a visit to the doctor to see what the problem was. Roy knew Joe would make a total fool of himself before all those cameras without him by his side, so he decided to call a doctor to the office instead. The doctor came and went, tentatively diagnosed Roy with chronic stress, gave him a bunch of pills and took a blood sample “just to be safe”. Roy didn’t think it would be anything serious. He was dead wrong.

The phone rang and Roy picked it up.  
“Roy Cohn here.”  
“Mr Cohn, I’m Dr Finkelstein. There is something regarding your… health that we must discuss. Would you like to schedule an appointment?” 

Now Roy was worried. Finkelstein sounded shaky, and Roy wondered why the nurse hadn’t called instead.  
“Sure, Doctor. Could you come to my office at around… four tomorrow?”  
“That would be fine.”  
“Doctor, if you don’t mind me asking, it isn’t anything life-threatening is it?”  
“Well… not generally, but I couldn’t say for certain.”  
“Thank you, see you tomorrow.”  
Roy hung up. 

Oh Lord, he was only 27, was he going to die already?

27th May,1954

Dr Finkelstein knocked on the door of Roy’s office. Roy admitted the doctor promptly. He had been sitting in his office rather anxiously for the past ten minutes or so.

“Sorry for the wait, monstrous traffic.”  
“It’s fine.”  
“So, Mr Cohn,” Dr Finkelstein furrowed his brows as he pulled out Roy’s blood test results from his breifcase, “as you may have guessed, I have news for you.”  
News? Why not bad news?  
Roy took a deep breath.  
“Now Doctor, tell me honestly, I can take it. How much time do I have?”  
Dr Finkelstein looked at him blankly.  
“Oh no, Mr Cohn, it’s nothing of that sort.”  
“I thought you said it was potentially life threatening.”  
“You must have misunderstood.”  
“Well tell me then, what’s wrong with me?”  
It was the doctor’s turn to take a deep breath, as if not knowing where to start. His brows knitted closer together.  
“Let’s put it this way, Mr Cohn. Do you recall who you might have been, uh, with, on the 13thof March?”  
Roy thought long and hard. With all the hassle with the army lately, even with his extraordinary memory, it was hard to be sure. Then he remembered, the blond man at the bar, the encounter that ended abruptly. And he slept with Joe that night, but the doctor didn’t have to know about that. 

“I went to work that day, grabbed a drink at some bar and went home to bed.”  
“Mr Cohn, I need you to be honest with me, this is very important. Did you meet someone at the bar?”  
Roy’s hair stood on end. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. Was the doctor a Soviet spy? Was he compromised?  
“Well, yes, I met a cute blond, er, girl there.” He chuckled dryly.  
“Are you sure it was a girl?”  
Damn it! He should have known it.  
“What do you mean?”  
Roy tried hard not to blow his cool.  
“Mr Cohn, I don’t mean to pry into your private life, and I mean no disrespect.”  
Doctor Finkelstein closed his eyes briefly, let out a sigh, and continued.  
“But it is important that you remember who he was, because, because, you are pregnant.”  
What. The. Actual. Fuck.  
Roy’s jaw went slack for a moment.  
Then he stood up and slammed down both palms on the table, hard.  
“What, is this some kind of sick joke? Well, Doctor, I don’t find it the least bit funny.”  
This little prick must have liked Welch’s clever joke so much he decided to pull one himself. How dare he mess with Roy Cohn?

Doctor Finkelstein had instinctively brought both hands defensively to his face. He knew Roy had a hot temper. He quickly brandished the blood test report.  
“No! See here, hcg, a pregnancy hormone, is detected. Mr Cohn, I do understand this is surreal. I couldn’t believe it myself. I had them rerun the tests four times, and each time the results came back like that. I swear to God, this is not a joke. It’s a medical miracle.”  
“Miracle? Do you have any idea what this will do to me?” Sputtered Roy, “I’m finished if this gets out. Finished.”  
He buried his face in his hands.  
“How is this even physically possible? I’m a fucking man!”  
“Only God knows Mr Cohn. Now you understand why I insisted upon knowing who you had spent the night with.”  
Roy froze. If Dr Finkelstein’s deduction was accurate, then Joe must be the father. Shit. Sorry son, Daddy gotta have you killed.  
“Can I get an abortion?” Roy asked hopefully.  
“Unfortunately, you can’t. You see there has never been a pregnant male before, we don’t even know where the uterus would be, although it may very well be somewhere behind the rectum. To operate on you would put your life at great risk.”  
Roy was fucked.

——————————————

“What’s wrong, Roy? You’re awfully quiet today.”  
Roy was silent. He and Joe, who looked rather concerned, sat side by side in the Cadillac. He was still debating whether or not Joe ought to be told the truth. The hearings were already driving both men crazy, and Roy wasn’t sure whether Joe could take it. He seriously contemplated gunning himself down and just be done with it. 

“Roy?”  
Roy, who was at the wheel, swerved the car into a nearby alley and jerked to a stop.  
He took a deep breath.  
“Joe, are you sober?”  
“Yes.”  
“You don’t have any heart problems, do you?”  
“No. What’s the matter Roy, you’re beginning to worry me.”  
Roy sighed, and turned to face Joe.  
“Joe, I’m pregnant.”  
“What?”  
“You’re the father.”  
“WHAT?”  
A brief silence.  
Then Joe started laughing.  
“Oh, that’s a good one, you nearly had me. You know Roy you don’t have to go to such lengths to make me say this, but I would love to marry you and have a bunch of kids with you if that was possible.”  
“Goddammit Joe do I look like I’m joking?”  
Roy whipped out the blood test report and shoved it into Joe’s face.  
Joe read the report. His mouth dropped open.  
“I can’t believe it Roy,” he looked at Roy, a big smile crossing his face, “it’s a miracle! I’m going to be a father!”  
Joe enveloped Roy with his strong arms in a tight embrace.  
Roy shoved him away with all his might, scowling.  
“Are you fucking crazy? A miracle? Oh of course you’re smiling it’s not you who’s going to give birth to your married boss’s bastard child. I can’t even get an abortion.”  
Joe looked apologetic.  
“I’m sorry Roy. I know this is… hard for you.”  
“What am I going to do?”  
“I swear to God, I will take care of you, no matter what happens.”  
Does he think I need taking care of? Never!  
But Roy looked at Joe, in all seriousness and solemnness, and for once, didn’t know whether he wanted to sock him in the face or just smile. 

New York City 19th January,1955 

So much had happened since that fateful night with Joe. Joe was struck down by Welch’s killer catchphrase designed to impress the audience, very successfully so. Roy resigned from the sub-committee before he got fired and went back to his private practice in New York. David was shipped to Georgia--- no more special privileges. And more recently, Joe was censured by his colleagues in the Senate. Joe was rather broken by it. 

Joe did keep his word about taking care of Roy. Not that he needed it. But since Joe was the only person other than the doctor who knew about Roy’s secret, having someone around to help didn’t feel bad at all. Joe flew up to New York frequently to see Roy. He insisted on paying Roy’s medical bills, although both knew Roy was drawing in a much higher salary than Joe’s unimpressive senatorial pay. Even as Joe was facing biting problems of his own at the Senate, he felt he had a responsibility to do whatever he could in his power to make Roy’s life easier. 

Roy was barking out instructions at a secretary when he felt a sharp jolt of pain in his abdomen and nearly doubled down. He instantly knew what was coming. He feigned calmness, ordered the shuddering secretary to leave and made two phone calls. One to Doctor Finkelstein, who was not a maternity doctor but had agreed to assist delivery to minimize the number of people who knew about the affair. One to Joe. Then Roy put on his baggy overcoat he had worn for the past few months, stepped out of the building and hailed a cab to a place a friend had agreed to let him use. 

——————————

Joe paced the hallway outside the “delivery room”. He had left everything and rushed to Roy as soon as he had heard. His palms were sweating.  
A burst of crying erupted from inside of the room. Joe froze.  
A moment later, the door opened and Dr Finkelstein emerged, smiling but sweating profusely.  
“Senator, it’s a boy,” said the doctor, “you can go in now.”  
Joe knocked on the door, and carefully crept into the room. Roy was holding a child swathed in a fluffy white towel, staring intently at the baby boy’s hair.  
“Can I hold him?” asked Joe.  
He was so overwhelmed by the realization of him being a father that he could barely get those words out. His hands were shaking.  
“Sure,” said Roy, handing Joe the whimpering infant.

Joe could tell Roy would not make a great father, judging from the way he carelessly thrusted the crying infant into his arms. He held the baby close and calmed him, gently rocking him. He was a perfectly beautiful and adorable creature, with blond hair and Roy’s pale blue eyes, his tiny hands reaching out for his father. Joe felt tears welling up in his eyes. What a wonderful child he was! 

Roy was thinking about something else. The kid was blond. Both he and Joe were dark-haired. So, where the hell did the blondness come from? Roy suddenly remembered what he did the morning after his dalliance with Joe that night. He was at Dave’s suite at the Waldorf Astoria, supposedly for breakfast. But like things usually do whenever Dave is involved, it quickly escalated from there. Could it be---? Roy shuddered, he sure as hell wasn’t ever going to let Joe know.

“Roy, look at our son,” Joe’s eyes were moist with tears of joy, “he’s beautiful.”  
“He sure is,” said Roy, managing a smile. He decided to play along.  
“What should we call him? Marcus, after you?”  
“Sure,” Roy murmured, distracted.  
He looked at Joe. He hadn’t seen Joe smiling that genuinely for what seems to be forever, not since his censure. He hated to ruin the bliss, but there was something that had to be discussed.

“What are we going to do about him?”  
“What?” Joe was caught off guard.  
“Our son, what are you planning to do about him?” Roy repeated his question carefully.  
“Why, we’re going to raise him,” Joe knew that scowl of Roy’s only too well, “or if you don’t want to, I’ll do it, I’m sure Jeanie wouldn’t mind.”  
“She wouldn’t?”  
“Well, I could say he was adopted.”  
“……She’s totally going to buy that.”  
“Why not?”  
“Clearly you don’t know a lot about women.”

Roy sighed, and went on, “no woman is going to believe you if you haul a new-born baby home and declare you just happened to scoop him off in the freezing streets and have decided to adopt him.”  
Joe frowned.  
“I suppose you are right.”  
Then Joe had another idea.  
“Say, we put him in an orphanage first. Then I will convince Jeanie that we should adopt a kid. And we’ll just go in there and get him, simple as that.”  
“I guess that could work.”  
“That will certainly work. Just tell the Cardinal about it in advance.”

23rd January, 1957

To not raise suspicion, Joe waited two years before he went back to the orphanage to adopt Marcus. When he did however, he was told that there was no record of such a child.  
“No record?” Joe was stunned, “but I put him here myself!”  
“I’m sorry Sir, but there’s nothing I can do. Would you like to adopt a girl instead?”  
Joe was devastated, but he had no choice as Jeanie was expecting an adopted baby at home. Distraught, he agreed. 

Joe came to love his new daughter, who was blessed with flaming red hair and bright blue eyes like Jeanie’s. But however lovable the child may be, it was not his only child. It was not his and Roy’s child. 

Up till that day he passed of acute hepatitis later that year, Joe never got over the trauma of losing his only son to the screwed-up adoption system.

New York City 18th February,1971

Le Club was not a quiet place at night. People chattered about gossip and politics just like any other commoner down on the lower east side. The only difference was these people were rich, powerful and well-connected. Among them was Roy, tanned and impeccably dressed, whispering in a conspiratorial fashion which led the journalist he was talking to lean in close to understand, not without difficulty, his rapid speech. Two tall, blond, handsome men, sat at either side, looking around in awe, impressed by the upper-class environment they were brought into by Roy. Even though it may only be for the night. 

A group of men seated at the next table as Roy continued to converse with the anxious journalist. The waiters there recognized them as some of the city’s up-and-coming real estate moguls, many of whom had inherited their fathers’ empires upon their graduation from college. One of them was a tall young man, with an air of insouciance, named Donald Trump. Out of the corner of his eye, Donald spotted Roy Cohn at a neighboring table. Donald had known Roy from the papers as one of the most powerful and sought-after attorneys in the city. Most importantly, the man had a reputation of being a tough fighter, defiant of rules and pleasantries. In short, he was a no-bullshit lawyer, exactly what young, ambitious Donald needed. Especially as he had now gotten tangled in a rather troublesome suit with the government. Hastily, he got up and made his way over to introduce himself.

“Good evening, Mr Cohn, I’m Donald Trump. I think you might know my father.”  
The name Trump did ring a bell. Roy looked up, and felt his heart skip a beat. And no, it wasn’t because the 27-year- old Donald had looked so dashingly handsome in his tuxedo. It was an odd sense of familiarity, which mystified him, that had struck Roy. He was sure he had never seen the young man before, but God, did he look familiar, even eerily so. Was it because he looked like Dave Schine? 

Roy realized his open-mouthed surprised expression wasn’t a good look and quickly snapped out of it. 

“You’re the son of Fred?” Roy couldn’t help noticing Donald resembled Fred only very vaguely.  
“Yes.”  
“Nice to meet you.”

They shook hands, and Roy invited Donald to sit down at their table. One of the blond men sulkily moved to make room.

“Now what can I do for you?” Roy had long since developed the habit of offering favors before they were actually asked of him. This was a much better strategy to build mutual trust and loyalty with new acquaintances. 

“Well, you see, we’ve gotten into this trouble with the government and all my lawyers are telling me to settle. But I know you’re tough and you like to fight, just like me. And I’m not going to crawl in front of the government on this one.”

Roy squinted at Donald. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he must have known the young man from somewhere, and his words reminded him of his young self. Tough, ambitious, even arrogant. Roy was pleasantly intrigued. 

“Donald, let me tell you this. You are absolutely right. You’ve done nothing wrong and you’ve gotta fight. And I’m pretty glad to tell you that you’ve come to the right guy.”

Roy would go on to teach Donald everything he knew. They became very close, both professionally and personally. It was said that Donald became a protege to Roy, and eventually inherited not only Roy’s playbook and political ambitions but more importantly, Roy’s spirit of a tough fighter. In a way, they certainly were like father and son.

**Author's Note:**

> Believe or not, I respect Mr Cohn, Sen. McCarthy, and President Trump. Everything is apparently entirely fictional and does not make sense whatsoever. No political commentary intended. I just thought it would be a cute story.


End file.
